A/N: This is for the Madness Challenge at HPFC Forum (where else?) and I chose Alice/Frank. This is a weird piece, because it's told from Alice's perspective the whole way through. I hope it grows on you like it did on me (I disliked it at the beginning, but the end was okay for me.) Please enjoy, and review when you get to the end!
Disclaimer: I don't own the lines from Alice in Wonderland, or the characters, settings, or anything else. They belong to various richer people…
The Valley of Departed Minds and Souls
(and Other Places, Too)
"Good night, everyone, Alice and I will be off," Frank said, waving to the remaining Order members.
(Lily and James are dead.)
Some looked solemn; some looked like they were having a great time. I couldn't really believe we were celebrating, when a chorus of Lily and James died, Harry's an orphan, Sirius is a traitor, Peter is dead, Lily and James died, Harry's an orphan, Sirius is a traitor, Peter is dead…rang in my mind all day.
(Sirius is a traitor.)
Exhausted, Frank and I left and walked through the cool night air. It was the eighth of November, but somehow still nice out—at least, for tonight. I leaned into Frank, trying to ignore the renewed, Harry is Neville's age, yet he's all alone in the world…all alone…an orphan…sent to live with Muggles…alone….
(Peter is dead.)
Frank kissed the top of my head, and I felt almost peaceful. The turmoil in my head settled, and I smiled a tad.
"Shall we Apparate now?" he asked, grabbing my hand. I nodded silently and we turned down the nearest alley—which was oddly dark and cold.
"Dementors?" I asked.
(Harry is an orphan.)
"No, darling," Frank said, trying to be comforting, but I couldn't help but shiver.
And then the laughter—oh, the laughter…It was high and cruel, as I knew Voldemort laughed. "Who's there?" I demanded, pulling out my wand.
(How can we celebrate?)
"Lumos." It was Bellatrix Lestrange, looking everything but benevolent. She smiled cruelly.
"Hello, dearies," she cackled, her smile growing. Why she would be smiling was beyond me, as her Dark Lord was gone.
(But so are Lily and James, and everyone else who died for the cause.)
"I've come to teach you a bit of a lesson—and punishment is in order as well, don't you agree?" So perhaps she was not just smiling—she was angry. Her anger shone on her face, beneath her hooded, dark, evil eyes, and the wand pointing our way only proved it.
"Never!" Frank said, glaring.
"Petrificus Totalus!" she yelled, and Frank fell to the ground, immobile.
All I did was scream.
(Will I die for the cause?)
"E-Expelliarmus!" I said, my voice shaking. It was a weak jet of light that went about a foot and evaporated.
Bellatrix laughed. "Does anyone call you…Allie?" she whispered menacingly. I gulped.
"No, and I'd appreciate it if you stuck to Mrs. Longbottom! We aren't quite on a first-name basis," I snapped. My voice shook, of course, but I was proud of myself for getting all of that out.
(The end will come quickly. Just a jet of light, just a curse. I am not afraid of death.)
She threw back her head and all-out laughed. "I'm having great fun—perhaps I will invite you to tea. Will that put us on first-name basis? Oh, no, it shall be impossible once I do this…Crucio!"
(The pain, oh—the pain! No one said I wasn't afraid of the pain. But never will I beg for death—Never will Frank hear me beg! I shall be silent—oh, the pain! But I shall live. I shall live for Neville, to protect Frank, to live! I must!)
I flopped in the air, sobbing and screaming. But no plead for death escaped my lips.
(But oh, escaping the pain…going somewhere else...)
And silence. My body slumped to the ground, but no longer did a brain inhabit it. I was a soul, trapped, and living in myself.
(Comfort. Silence…Salvation.)
After darkness came a bright light.
"Frank? Frank! Neville!"
(I was laughing. I suddenly felt light and giddy. The pain was gone, and now all I needed was my husband and child, and I would be happy.)
What was going on? Words escaped my mouth as if I had no control over it.
"Neville! Frank! Augusta! Mummy! Mummy? Is it you? Oh, Mummy, but I haven't seen you in so long!"
There she stood in front of me, the mother from my childhood. She wore her faded red dress with the big white lilies all over it, and her straw sunhat. She was smiling. She'd died when I was nine—why was she here?
(Her smile was foggy and disfigured. My mum's smile was never disfigured, but my brain didn't acknowledge this.)
"How are you, Mummy? I've been good, you know—Frank and I got married and had Neville, and oh, we're the most picturesque family! We want a little girl, too, at least one, and maybe another child, and Frank wants to adopt a cat—isn't that funny? I never really liked the idea, but he's Frank, and his ideas are always right."
What was happening? My arms were rising above my head, and I was dancing—dancing? Why? Why couldn't I stop myself? Mum came, though, and forced them down. "Shh, it's alright. Your husband is right next to you—right here. Shh. Calm down, dear. Lay in this bed. Tell me about yourself."
(Shouldn't she know? She told me she would look down on me from heaven. Maybe she was just waiting for Frank. Where was he—next to me? No, I didn't see him. It was just my mother and me.)
I began to babble again, grinning as I told my mother things I'd always wanted to tell her. Why was I going on and on? Shouldn't I tell her about Voldemort, about the bad things that had happened?
"I'm glad you came here, Mrs. Longbottom."
(Well, now I felt old. Imagine, my own Mum, bothering with such formalities! She was never formal in life, but perhaps death did that to a person. I felt buoyant—I didn't know what death did to a person. I was alive!)
"You don't have to call me that, Mum!" And I giggled at the odd way it rolled from her tongue. "Where are we, anyway?"
"We're getting you help. Bellatrix Lestrange is going to Azkaban, don't worry, dear."
(Why did my mother know about Bellatrix but not about my life? I pushed the thought aside with another giggle—how fun it was to do that!)
"I always knew she was a Death Eater," I said confidently. Somewhere through the haze surrounding my mother and me lay a memory—a memory of Bellatrix Lestrange's anger, and her laughter. "What about Frank? Where is he? And Neville—I need Neville!"
"Quiet, now, dear. Your husband is right here. Remember? Right next to you."
(Why couldn't I see him? I missed him. I remembered his kiss on the top of my head. He was always happy—Why couldn't he share this lovely moment with my mother and me?)
"Why can't I see him?" I asked idly, giggling again for practice.
"Oh dear. Jean, she's worse than we expected! Come here, Gracie, let's test her."
(Why was my mother calling unfamiliar names? Were they aunties? I never paid attention to the names of my many aunties. Oh, well, I'd greet them.)
"Hello, Aunt Gracie," I said, as a woman stepped in front of my bed. "My mum's gone now—is she visiting with someone? I love family parties, you see, but I can never remember people's names. My husband, Frank—Have you met him?—has a small family, thank Merlin. Or are you a Muggle? Oh dear, I can't remember. Bring my mum to me, please."
"You mean Healer Shaw? Oh dear, oh dear, oh dearie dearie dear. Hannah, you were right. She's only focusing on one of us at a time. Call her name."
(Well, isn't that rude? My mother never shouted. And how nice I was to her! Well, now, she could show some kindness! Perhaps she was a Squib. I'd forgive her, if that was the case. And of course I was focusing on them one at a time—it was easier that way. Besides, my mother's name wasn't Hannah. It was Madrona. How odd. Even I didn't get her name wrong!)
My mother called, "Mrs. Longbottom! Alice, Alice, look at me."
"Where are you, Mum?" I asked. She sounded so near, but so far. "Why did the auntie call you Hannah? You are Madrona…Madrona. I'm tired."
And just like that, I was asleep.
More light blinded me. I looked around—oh, a forest! How lovely! I did so dote on trees and green.
"Frankie?" I called. No answer. Instead, a Cat appeared, just like the one Frank wanted. It was a soft white color, with blue eyes and pointy ears. I giggled, remembering how much fun it was to look at the kitties in Diagon Alley a month or so ago.
The Cat opened its mouth and yawned lazily. "Hello, Alice."
(The Cat can talk! Wouldn't Frank like that? I'd have to tell him when I got home—I missed home. Where was home? Was my memory gone? Who had Obliviated me?)
"Hi! What's going on? I feel queer, and confused."
"You're Mad," the Cat said without a smile. Well, that was rude!
But I simply smiled for him. "Whatever do you mean?"
"You are in the Valley of the Departed Minds and Souls. Dead and Mad people come here."
(Really! Well, the nerve, why would this Cat call me mad? Or was Mad capitalized and cat lowercase? Why was I thinking of grammar? Grammar? What is grammar, anyway? It's slipped my mind…)
"But I don't want to go among mad people," I remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" I said.
(Really, he could ask before he assumed! Or is it grasp before he assumed? Grasp—I can't grasp anything! And ask—is that word legal? Legal? What kind of word is that, anyway? Why legal? What was legal? What did it even mean?)
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."
I was confused. "So I've come to the Valley of the Departed Minds and Souls, where Dead and Mad people come, so I must be mad? Is that capitalized?"
The Cat rolled its ice-blue eyes. "My dear, I simply cannot answer that. You must understand for yourself. Embrace madness. Embrace life without a memory. You can learn to be happy."
(I am always happy! Happy is a synonym for mad, but not for Mad. For mad? What was the difference between Mad and mad? Mad always seemed scarier—Madder. Mad, however, lowercase, was tame and mad, and that's all. But why mad and not Mad? Why Mad and not mad? Why mad at all?)
And the Cat promptly disappeared.
"What a bad-mannered Cat. And that is capitalized."
The bright light swallowed me yet again, and I had arrived safely back in the room with my mother. Only now there was an uncle, presumably, putting all sorts of queer gadgets towards me.
(Shouldn't he ask first? No one grasped anymore. Ask, grasp—did they rhyme? How did you decide if something rhymed, anyway? Rhyming was fun—my Graddad and I always used to rhyme. Our rhymes were usually boring, though. Boring is an antonym for grasp. And ask. Rhyme isn't an antonym or a synonym. After all, what was the difference?)
"Stop!" I said. "Uncles should be kind to their nieces. What are you doing to me?"
"I need to do this, ma'am. You can call me Uncle Sam—all my patients call me that. It's funny that you're already calling me uncle! Calm down. Lay back, shh. Healer Shaw will be back in a moment. Back to bed, with you."
But I didn't want to go back to the Valley of the Departed Minds and Souls. Sudden tears blurred my vision, but I smiled—not without a giggle, naturally. "When shall I see Neville?"
(Neville—why did that name come from my mouth? What did Neville mean? It was a plant, right? A beautiful one, at that. No, no, it had to do with towns. Towns? That rhymed with grasp, too. And Neville. They all rhymed!)
"Soon. Your son is coming. Back to bed."
How happy I suddenly felt. I smiled a big smile at my uncle and said, "What's your name?"
(It must have slipped my mind.)